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Required Reading: You Can’t Pay Me to Play

Writer and editor Adam P. Knave wrote an extraordinary piece yesterday about doing the things that you love. It’ll hit close to home if you’re an artist of some kind, but the words ring true to pretty much everyone:

“If this book does horribly, will you write the next one?”

“Of course,” I said before I could think about it.

“That’s just it,” he told me. We both know it can be soul crushing constant work. You’ll work harder doing what you love than any other time in your life. But it’s the good kind of work that is worth doing. And when it squeezes you dry for a bit you get up and keep going. Because it’s simply what you do.

“I go to get a gig and they ask if they can see me play and they try to make me feel like they’re paying me to play,” he said. I didn’t get it. I mean of course they paid him to play, like they pay me to write. But no. “They couldn’t afford to pay me to play. I wouldn’t ask them to. I play anyway. They pay me for my time.”